Stomach: What the hell? A beer? A freezing-ass beer in the shower? Whatever it's just one, but really?

7:30 PM

Stomach: Margaritas and nachos? Are you making this a theme day or something? Bladder, heads up. Looks like we're in a friggin' Mexican restaurant on margarita night.

Bladder: 10-4, good buddy.

8:00 PM

Stomach: What the HELL am I supposed to do with all these beans, guy? You think I've got a machine down here turning re-fried beans into stardust? Those grumbles are me saying to chill out! And Colon, don't you get any ideas.

Colon: I'm fine. Shut up.

9:30 PM

Stomach: Wow, I'm struggling. I'm begging for a nice nap, but from what Nose tells me we're in a dive bar. I just hope I don JAGER SHOT! JAGERSHOT! Alert! Alert! Set condition one and seal all emergency hatches! Looks like he's getting shitfaced, everyone!

Penis: Yeah!

Balls: Alright!

11:00 PM

Stomach: Bladder, you're doing great. We're working together like gears in a Swiss watch. I set em' up, you knock em' down. I passed off most of the heavy lifting to Intestines. Colon is keeping up his end of the deal. We're cool. I just hope JAGER SHOT! JAGERSHOT! Damn that one really shook we can't keep taking hits like this!

12:00 AM

Eyes: Everyone, are you seeing all these babes? These girls look awesome!

Penis: Alright!

Balls: Yeah!

Stomach: Shake it off, you three! That's the third pitcher talking and you know it! Hold it together! He's switching to whiskey!

1:00 AM

Stomach: We're at condition red, I can barely hold this together. There's booze getting into everything! Looks like Brain is starting to shut some things down. Sorry, Penis.

Penis: Bullshit!

Balls: C'mon!

3:00 AM

Stomach: Oh god, I'm a wreck. Eyes said he's riding shotgun to get drunk food now he's sitting on the Hindenburg and doesn't even know it.

3:15 AM

Tongue: Head's up, Stomach! It's not pretty! He eating some kind of f*cked up diner burger with a fried egg on it!